Sly As A Fox
by jokeriented
Summary: An aspiring criminal psychiatrist travels to Gotham for an opportunity to tour Arkham Asylum, a trip made with other students in her doctorate program. An interlude with the institute's most infamous patient was not exactly what she'd hoped for.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

Most protagonists have something special about them, something that separates them from the social norm. Like, maybe they were adopted, and didn't know it...their biological parents happened to be part of the mob, or the royal family; maybe they're a wizard, or a vampire, and must be the one to save humanity from the big bad wolf. In reality, however, the protagonist is rather normal.

Like me. There's nothing special about me. I'm not drop dead gorgeous, with an incredibly thin waist and voluptuous curves; I barely reach 5'5, weigh 105 soaking wet, and sometimes to make myself feel better I say I might one day be a C cup. I'm not ridiculously smart, nor do I possess any special, unique talents, like psychic powers, or x ray vision. I'm flexible, and have excellent balance, but ten years of gymnastics will do that.

Really, the only somewhat odd thing about me is my self proclaimed borderline obsessive fascination with the criminal mind; my main interest being murderers, serial or otherwise.

So in other words, I'm basically the same as every female born in the nineties. Though I like to think I started the trend, being born in 1988.

I didn't.

Though admittedly, as interesting as criminals are to most people, not many are able to exactly understand why they do what they do. Sure, they know the textbook reasons; stabbing someone usually indicates the assailant is impotent, and somehow emotionally involved in the kill, suffocation also implies the victim was important somehow to the murderer...and serial killers, unless caught or killed, will never stop.

Thanks Wikipedia.

But...why? Why do these people do what they do? Why did Jeffrey Dahmer murder seventeen men, commit sexual acts with their bodies, then proceed so far as to even eat some of them? Why would Ted Bundy target women who reminded him of the woman he was due to marry, who ended up breaking his heart? Why?

That's where I seem to understand. Though I've never really explained how to people I associate with...I just ask myself; why would I do such a thing? And that's my answer.

Not that I have any sort of criminal inclination; I'm definitely completely content to study them, and understand them, rather than partake in their interests. So, understandably, I was currently in my final year at the University of Chicago, working towards my MD in criminal psychology, when my life took a turn for...what I now realize to be, the best. After a grueling six years of post secondary education, I was almost done. In two years, I would have a complete thesis, and would then be known as Doctor Jezzieka Aisha Fox. Though originally I carried the surname John, my adoptive parents' last name, once I decided that being a doctor was my ultimate goal, I figured switching to my biological father's name would sound cooler than Dr. John.

Though I'd been adopted, my past was no mystery to me. I was raised by amazing parents, who had no qualms about me knowing about my past, and even helped me to discover who I was, and where I came from.

My mother was, to put it lightly, a troubled girl. After running away to Los Angeles at fourteen, she met a man only known as Mr. Cocoa, who was, then, the leader of the 18 Street Gang. He was nicknamed because of his apparent preference for cocaine. From what I could gather, she was doing a drug run for him in the city of Gotham when she met my father, Lucius Fox. A real step up from the man she was with, as this guy was not only wealthy, genuinely charming, and attending university, but he had a completely clean record. Unfortunately, their passion lasted one night, and my mother returned to her boyfriend. She was seventeen. Nine months later, I was born. A year and a half later, my mother ran away to Chicago, using money she stole from Mr. Cocoa. I don't know if it was my darker skin tone, or the African American name my mother had decided on, but it's speculated he realized I was not his child, and based on what I'd heard about him, he wasn't the type to get angry. We lasted about six months, before he found us. He beat my mother to death, and apparently was ready to dispose of me when the cops arrived, and he was killed in the crossfire, along with two of his goonies he dragged along.

I suppose witnessing these events at two years old could be the root of my morbid fascination...though I remember none of it. Even learning about it, I was never really disturbed. The family that took me in as I said, were, _are, _incredible, and provided me with a much better life than I could have ever have hoped for. Contacting my father was never something I felt compelled to do. The way I saw it, he'd had a drunken trist as a kid, and me showing up on his doorstep randomly would only throw a lot of complications into his life, which, last time I had checked, was pretty good. He was CEO of his childhood friend's company, Wayne enterprises. The son, Bruce, from what I could gather, was quite the handful, so introducing another child into his life that he would probably feel responsible for was not in the best interest of anyone.

So, ironically, when I found myself chosen to be one of the seldom few offered a trip to Gotham City, all expenses paid, to take a tour in the world renowned institution for the criminally insane, Arkham Asylum, I decided that would be the only stop in Gotham I would make.

As it was, once I was standing in the entrance, with my small group of peers, in the same building containing some of the world's most dangerous criminals, my father wasn't exactly in the forefront of my mind. It was hard to believe that finally, not through tv, or newspapers, or youtube videos, I was going to see these killers. Maybe not talk to them, or have the contact I was working towards...but at least through some glass in a door. Maybe we would even be taken through the sitting rooms, where the patients who weren't so unpredictable would be sitting, eating, chatting. Maybe one of them would address me, and I would have no choice but to respond...

I straightened my glasses, and focused ahead, on the very stern looking woman standing in front of our small group, clearly waiting on everyone's eyes to land on her before she spoke. As there were only six of us, it didn't take too long.

"Good afternoon." Judging by her tone and lack of smile, it appeared to have been anything but. "My name is Nurse Bradie.

"Before we begin, I must lay out the ground rules, which if not followed properly, will result in the tour immediately ending. You all clearly know where you are, but I need you to comprehend what that means." She looked at each of us in turn, her glare making it clear she had not been in support of this happening.

"This institute deals with clinically insane individuals, criminals who have committed heinous acts, some of which are beyond the likes of which you can imagine. Acts that, under regular circumstances, would sentence one to life in prison, and in any states where it's legal, the death penalty." Despite her somewhat menacing tone, I felt my mind start to wander, the struggle I felt trying to focus on her words great. I'd learned about this place in my second year for my _masters _degree.

"Unlike prison inmates, however, Arkham patients are unable to understand that what they have done, what they desire to do, is wrong. They'll discuss ripping out someone's tongue, cooking it, and feeding it to a baby, just as easily as you or I would discuss dinner with our parents." I sighed quietly, and flicked my black hair over my shoulder, exposing some of the purple peekaboo I'd put in only a week previously. That attracted the attention of Nurse Bradie, whose already unwelcome gaze increased ten fold, and she fixed me with a glare that made me feel like a little kid in school, who was disturbing the class. For some reason, I got the impression my hair offended her more than the boredom I was attempting to hide.

Good thing she hadn't seen me two weeks ago, with my pink, teal and white streaks.

She kept her eyes on me.

"Even experienced doctors have difficulty coping with some of these patients. We tragically lost one of our own a few months back; he'd been working here for three years." Well, if she was trying to deter me from pursuing this career path, she wasn't doing a half bad job. After pursing her lips in a very disapproving way, she averted her eyes to the others.

"While you are here, you will not speak to, or even look, at anyone who does not work here. If any patient attempts to interact with you, you will ignore them, act like they don't exist. Even the slightest amount of contact could trigger a fantasy, of which you would most likely play a crucial part; I seriously doubt any of you would be comfortable knowing what these fantasies entail.

"You will not yell. You will not make any noise unless it is a question directed at me, or any employees you may meet. There will be no pictures, no videos; all cell phones must be turned off before the tour begins." She gave each of us a hard look, as we timidly turned off our cells. Once everyone had received her glare, she asked if we understood. We nodded.

"Then follow me."

The place was massive, and the architecture was beautiful; though I think I would have gone completely mental being in a place so startlingly white, even if there was a lot of marble like here. The floors, walls, doors, nurse uniforms...even the furniture, liquid paper white.

"Everyone gather round close. We're about to enter the minimum security wing. Though heavily guarded, these patients are not restrained, and not confined to their rooms." She opened the door, and it was almost a relief to see something other than white; the orange jumpsuits of the patients. We kept in a small huddle, closer to the nurse than I would have liked, but she spoke in such a quiet tone, you had to practically be breathing down the other person's neck to hear her.

"These patients are, shall we say, the more lucid in the institution. Though completely insane, these are the patients who are able to function in a day to day manner. We keep them as calm as possible, and are able to tell when one is about to, as you young people like to say, _snap._" The derogatory tone she used was not lost on any of us. "They each have a cell mate, and are permitted up to six hours a day outside the building in the yard, in two hour intervals. Other than the mandatory daily hour of therapy, they virtually have free reign of the wing, and can choose to either spend time in their rooms, in the sitting room, or outside. They are allotted a pack of cigarettes a week, and receive medication when it's time to wake, at 0900, as well as minor sedatives to knock them out when lights are turned out, at 2100 hours. You'll notice they are marked with a green band on their left arm. This identifies them as minimum security patients."

Most of the patients didn't even seem to notice us, and the ones that did, seemed more keen to avoid us than socialize. It wasn't difficult to observe. It was eerily like one would expect; some were twitching, some were talking to themselves, and some were sitting silent, either staring at the TV, or board games that hadn't been touched.

Next, was the medium security wing, where the patients were marked with red bands. They spent about half the day in their individual cells, and were taken outside twice a day, for hour intervals. One hour was dedicated to individual therapy, one hour was group, and the remaining time was for them to do as they pleased. We arrived during group therapy, and therefore had a bit more difficulty avoiding eye contact. About half seemed, like the minimum wing, oblivious to our presence; but the other half were quite interested, and one even began yelling at us, focusing on the quietest member of the group, Brian. The poor guy, he cast his eyes to the ground, and I could practically feel the fear oozing off him. He wouldn't fare too well in a place like this, clearly.

These particular patients became agitated, and angry very easily. The smallest action could set them off, and, in our lovely tour guide's words, "trigger them to fork out everyone's eyeballs before burning the joint down." The security was a little heavier here, and I noticed that the guards carried Tasers, unlike the minimum guards, who wielded only batons. The atmosphere was already a great deal more tense than it had been in minimum security, but it was nothing compared to the ominous cloud that fell over us all when we passed the pistol, Taser and baton wielding security guard, and entered maximum security. It was like being enveloped in an invisible, menacing fog. My heart accelerated slightly, and even Nurse Bradie dropped her voice to a near whisper.

"This, is where we keep the unpredictable patients. They don't need a trigger, or any sort of reason to do what they do." She stopped at the first door.

"This particular patient is a very interesting case. He was brought to us a couple of years ago, after police arrested him for the brutal murders and torture of a family." She carefully blocked the door, just in case any of us tried to look in. "He killed the youngest child first - a six year old girl - before cutting her up, and serving her up like a turkey dinner to the rest of the family. If they refused to eat, he would kill their son, who was only a couple years older. After they finished their 'meal,' the son was forced to kill his mother, at which time the father attempted to overpower the assailant; he smashed his head repeatedly onto the ground, then proceeded to pull his mouth apart, nearly ripping the jaw clean off." She looked at each of us in turn, gauging our reactions. I glanced over at the group; only one, Mike, remained stoic. The rest looked close to puking. Ling, the only other girl, was covering her mouth.

Nurse Bradie continued.

"This was all relayed to us by this patient once he came in; and he smiled the whole time. He even laughed. He was genuinely amused by the pain he caused these people. It was like he was telling a joke."

Cameron spoke, his voice shaking slightly. Due to his 6'7 stature, he stood at the back of the small group.

"Why did he do it? What did they do to him?"

Nurse Bradie looked at him coolly.

"Nothing. They walked by him in the street, and the happiness of the little boy made him bitter. So he followed them to their house and killed them." She gestured us to walk forward, and once we were again in the center of the hallway, she quickly passed us.

"These patients are kept in their separate rooms for ten hours a day, as well as all night. They are brought out only for their half hour of therapy, and are allotted two forty five minute intervals in the box."

"The box?" Brian piped up, trying to keep his eyes downcast.

"Here." We sped up slightly, reaching the end of the hallway in a few seconds. She looked into the room, then gestured us forward.

"You can each look in briefly, but hurry. There's someone inside."

Ling went first, and Mike, the most muscular of the group, lifted her up, as her height of 4'11 made looking through the window difficult.

"This is the exercise room. These patients cannot be trusted in the open. We have cameras in their rooms, and in the boxes," she pointed across the hall, indicating another box room, "...24/7. Once they are out of their rooms, we restrain them, binding their wrists, and ankles. Makes it impossible for much movement." I looked second last. The room was small, maybe 8 by 10, and the man inside was pacing, his long, scraggly hair covering his face, which was angled to the ground.

Tony, who looked, for lack of a better description, like the typical gawky teenage boy, stepped forward. Before he could even peak through, the man's sallowed face appeared in the window, and he slammed his hands on the door.

Tony jumped back, his eyes widening in fright. Ling screamed, and even my heart skipped a beat. The man started cackling, exposing his horrid teeth. Meth mouth.

"Don't look at him!" Nurse Bradie hissed at us, and quickly blocked the door. His cackling echoed eerily in the hallway, and I got a creepy prickling feeling on the back of my neck...like he wasn't the only one aware of our presence.

Nurse Bradie glared at Ling. "Well, now that our presence has been so eloquently announced, there will be more than a few curious eyes watching. Keep your eyes down, follow me, and don't make a sound. Despite what you think you may see, or hear, don't say or do ANYTHING." She stalked forward, and we followed, feeling chastened.

We made it halfway down the hall before the nurse stopped, pressing a finger to her ear, presumably pushing on an earpiece.

"What?! No, I still have the group here, hold it! Oh, bloody fucking _hell!_" She spun around, ignoring the sudden muffled jeers that accompanied her momentary lapse of judgment regarding her language.

"We have a new patient coming through." Though her eyes were like fire, it was clear she was very unsettled, and I felt my heart accelerate in anticipation. Who could they possibly be bringing that would render even _her _this nervous? Unless, of course, she was just nervous, and was overreacting because she hadn't planned on us being exposed to a maximum security patient, especially a new one.

Yeah, that must have been it.

"I need you three on this wall, and you guys on this one." She directed Mike, Ling and Tony to one wall, and Brian, Cameron and I took the other one. I don't know what possessed me to do it, but rather than choose the spot between the two boys, like Ling, I picked the side closest to the door. She told us to keep our eyes down, but maybe my peripheral would be able to catch something...

"Don't move a muscle until I tell you, and-"

A high pitched, manic cackle cut her off, echoing through the hallway. It wasn't the sudden increase in activity in the rooms that stopped my heart, or even the chilling sound of the laugh itself; I recognized that sound. Completely forgetting the nurse's instructions, my eyes became transfixed on the door. There was no way...I'd researched him, his antics were known by even us in Chicago...but it couldn't be him.

"Eyes forward, face down!" Nurse Bradie snapped, and I quickly averted my eyes to my feet, just as the door opened.

I tucked my hair behind my ear, and could only make out purple. My first thought was that it was my hair, but then I could make out movement, and what I realized was a white face.

It suddenly clicked why the nurse had been so uncomfortable with my hair.

"Oooo, what do we have heeeeeeere-uh? These um, your little nazi followers, Nurse, Bah-raaaaadie?" His voice sent chills down my spine, and I could practically feel the danger emanating off him.

"Or uh, maybe they're all praying? Can I join?" He burst into another bout of manic laughter, and goosebumps appeared all over my body. The prickling feeling on the back of my neck intensified, and I swallowed hard. Choosing the end had been a mistake.

"They are not here for you Joker, so pipe down; or I'll have the orderlies sedate you." Her tone was probably meant to sound meaner than it did.

They were very close now, and even though the situation was terrifying, it was a challenge not to look, especially when they got closer, and my feeling of being watched turned into knowledge that I definitely was.

"I uh, like your hairrr."

Maybe it was my morbid curiousity. Maybe it was because I was raised to always acknowledge someone when they addressed me. Maybe it was the slightly rebellious attitude I'd always harboured when it came to authority. Whatever it was, I should not have done it.

My eyes slid to the side, and almost subconsciously, my head followed suit.

His eyes were black as coal, and had me frozen on the spot. A very cold chill shot through my veins, feeling like someone had injected me with ice water.

He grinned, showing off perfectly straight, yellow teeth. His makeup was smeared, and the red that covered what I had read to be gruesome scars was everywhere. I wasn't sure if it was just paint.

"Get me outta these restraints and I'll show you a _wild _time. I've uh, never had dark meat before!" I don't know what happened...I didn't want to speak, but my mouth seemed to have it's own ideas.

"Won't be this dark meat."

He was on his feet, fingers clutching the air where my head had been before I'd lurched back, knocking Brian into Cameron, my heart in my throat. There was a tingling in my entire body, and it seemed to immobilize me. Thank God my body knew to move, because my mind certainly hadn't been there.

He was cackling again, the sound seemingly rattling every bone in my body. The edges of my vision became black, and all I could see was his face.

There was yelling, and I felt myself being jostled around. Everything was very hazy, and all I could hear was that laugh, resonating in my head.

As it became more faint, my vision began to return, and when I was able to finally take in my surroundings, the laughing was gone, and the only face I saw was the enraged one of Nurse Bradie.

"What in God's name were you _thinking._" Her face was so red. I didn't know human's faces could be so red. "Idiot girl, do you not realize who that _was_?!"

I could only nod, trying to slow what I then felt to be a very hard thudding in my chest.

"Then what was that? Do you really expect to _ever _be a doctor with such lunacy? The instructions were very clear, do _not_, under any circumstances, interact with the patients; and what do you do? Trigger one of the most maniacal patients to ever walk these halls, who has already managed to escape once before. We may as well just stick you in here with the rest of them, you're certainly crazy enough..." She continued, but I could barely register her words. My ears pounded, my breath was ragged, and everything was slightly blurry. My voice was non existent.

When I felt something cool on my forehead, I jerked backwards, blinking hard, and felt warm tears roll down my cheeks, out of my now stinging eyes. How long had I not blinked for?

Instead of Nurse Bradie's face and angry voice, there was now a beautiful blonde woman in front of me. She had startlingly blue eyes, and a very mischievous look about her. She couldn't have been any older than thirty.

"Hi there Jezzie...may I call you that?" I nodded, relieved at her presence. For whatever reason, she was calming me down.

"I hear you had a little bit of a scare." She smiled kindly, and placed what I then realized to be a wet washcloth back on my forehead. "Just know that your little friend is all locked up, with two armed security guards supervising the orderlies checking him for any weapons. He won't be getting out."

I blinked hard, and took the washcloth from her. I removed my glasses, and wiped my face off, briefly appreciating my decision to sleep later that morning, rather than apply makeup.

"Who-" I stopped to clear my raspy throat, creating a rather disgusting phlegmy sound. "Who are you?"

She leaned back from me, and it was then that I noticed not only my group, looking rather shaken, but that Nurse Bradie was no longer present.

"I'm Harleen Quinzel. I'm the Joker's psychiatrist." I put my glasses back on, my face starting to burn now that the entirety of my situation was settling over me.

"I...I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have- oh fuck, I'm so stupid, what the shit did I just do?" I leaned forward, putting my head in my hands, the washcloth hanging limply from my fingers.

Harleen grabbed my hands, and leaned down, looking up at me from an awkward angle.

"No need to apologize hun, it's not your fault. I'm surprised you're the only one who sneaked a peak, considering you're all here to study and discover things about people like him. It's curiousity, and the ability to do things differently that make one so successful when working with them. Of course, rules are important; but sometimes, with some cases, the normal rules do not apply."

I smiled slightly. "Don't think breaking rules is exactly the way I should have gone though. Guess I didn't make too good of an impression with this place."

She laughed.

"Most people aspiring to be criminal psychologists aren't exposed to such a high profile patient until they've successfully treated others, with significantly les danger about them. You're still a student; frankly, I'm surprised you didn't faint.I take it you've all heard about the Joker?" We all nodded.

She leaned in close, so even I could barely hear her. "Based on your peers' reactions, I doubt I'd be having such a normal conversation with any of them had they been in your position." The smile I gave this time was bigger, and actually genuine. I even laughed, albeit, breathily.

I liked this woman.

I cleared my throat again, and straightened up.

"So what happens now?" As if on cue, Professor Jake Lyttel entered the room, looking flustered.

"What happened? Jezzie, are you okay?" I nodded, and Harleen held her hands up to him.

"All is fine here, Professor Lyttel. She just had a small interlude with one of our more dangerous patients, there was a little scare, but everyone is fine." He sighed, and ran his hand over his face. I felt my face burning again.

Harleen clapped her hands together.

"Well, I think everyone has had enough excitement for one day. If your professor is amicable to another day, I'd be more than happy to give you another tour personally, or if you would like to make individual appointments, in person or otherwise, we can definitely work something out. We weren't expecting to get the Joker today, he was scheduled to be brought in tomorrow, so that's a mix up on our end. Your group definitely needs a break...maybe even a night on the town? There are quite a few nice bars in around the city, I'd be more than happy to point you to one you may like; on us, of course." She was talking to the professor now, who looked slightly taken aback at her generosity. He must have been notified of the situation by someone not so nice.

Probably Bradie.

"Um...yes, sure, that would um, be very nice." Though very stern in the class, Professor Lyttel was an extremely cool dude when he wasn't trying to teach us something.

Harleen smiled. "It's the least we can do. Consider it an apology, for being ill prepared on your behalf." He gave a small grin, and loosened up slightly.

"That sounds great. Where would you recommend?"

* * *

My throat and eyes burned as the liquid went down my throat, only somewhat subsiding once I bit into the lemon wedge. Maybe tequila wasn't the smartest drink to start out with.

This was confirmed when everyone except the professor, or "please call me Jake outside the classroom," began coughing. I felt a lot better knowing I wasn't the only one to attempt to soothe the burn with a swig of beer. I guess a group of students working towards their medical doctorates were not the proficient drinkers.

"Well, folks, unfortunately I can't change the plan. Our flight is scheduled to depart tomorrow night. Dr. Quinzel won't be available again for a few days. So unless you guys can make arrangements to stay on your own, with your own money, we won't have another opportunity." There was a collective disappointment in the group, and on my part, a stab of guilt.

"Guys...I'm sorry, I know I messed this up for you-" Mike covered my mouth.

"Quiet peasant! It wasn't your fault, we would have been fine had they not made the mistake of bringing that guy in while we were there. Had nothing to do with you."

The rest of the group nodded, and Ling piped up.

"It's probably for the best anyway; if we're going to go there again, it's better we work our way up to it." She took a shot of JD, and gave a little cough, chasing it with beer.

Jake nodded, and took a swig of beer before speaking. "Very true. That Joker character is not someone even I would want to encounter. You're definitely a braver man than I, Jezzie." He raised his glass to me, and we all shared a chuckle, the slight inebriation we felt making the situation seem less severe, and my guilt was less prominent.

I ordered another shot, and shook my head at the group. "I wouldn't say that; I nearly pissed myself when he spoke to me." Though originally very disturbed, I neglected to mention that rather than fear, I now felt more...intrigued, by the idea of such a man. The others kept conversation, and I drifted into my own head, wondering how he could have become such a, for lack of a better word, monster...why was he doing this? What was his motivation? How did he get those scars? And what made him choose me, out of the six people that stood there? Was it just my hair, or was it something else? Did he like me? Did he want to...ugh...get intimate with me? Did people like him even have regular intercourse?

So lost was I in my thoughts that I didn't realize my group was trying to get my attention. When I did, I noticed a hand snapping it's fingers in front of me, and jumped slightly.  
"What? What, what's up?" The snapping culprit, Cameron, laughed and leaned back.

"Don't look now, but I think Mr. tall, dark and handsome over there may wanna take you for a spin." He bit his lip, and craned his head, blatantly checking out whoever was apparently staring at me. I turned around, curious. Usually I would have been slightly more stealth with it, but the alcohol was effectively removing any reservations I had.

The male in question wasn't exactly being subtle himself. Not that he had to be, he had the look of someone who could get any woman he wanted.

He wore a crisp suit, and had thick, black hair slicked back. He was clearly well built, and had a very piercing look about him. His eyes however, though obviously trained on me, were not staring in a heated way. They were more...scrutinizing. Like how a police officer would look at a subject of interest. Upon seeing him, my eyes took on the same look.

He was very...familiar.

Neither of us took our eyes off each other, until he was joined by his apparent companion, and my face slackened.

No...fucking...way.

I turned around quickly, staring at the table in shock. Of all the bars in all of Gotham, I happened to be drinking in the same one as _him_.

My group eyed me warily.

"Well, that certainly isn't a very positive response." I gave Tony a fleeting, half hearted glare, who was staring at me over his glasses in an almost comedic fashion.

Unfortunately, I found the situation anything BUT funny.

I sighed. "That's billionaire Bruce Wayne."

It took a second, but when it sunk in, everyone was staring at me like I'd suddenly sprouted horns.

"It IS!"  
"Holy shit!"  
"He's still totally staring at you." Cameron was staring back, a very dreamy look in his eyes.

Jake leaned forward, seemingly the only one with a clear head.

"So...you're not ditching out on us...why?" He raised his eyebrows. I closed my eyes.

"Because-"

A tap on my shoulder interrupted me before I could continue, and I turned, looking into beautiful, almond shaped chocolate eyes; my eyes.

"Excuse me miss, I'm sorry to bother you...but I was just wondering if you happened to know a woman by the na-"

"Kerri Sharpe." I interrupted. His eyes widened. I turned away from him, meeting the stares of my very curious, very confused companions.

I took a deep breath.

"Everyone...this is Lucius Fox; my biological father."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

I woke up painfully early. I don't know whose bright idea it was to not shut the drapes - probably mine- but even through my eyelids, I was now suffering from the light.

When I opened my eyes, I was met with the blurry sight of a withered looking elderly man holding a tray. Momentarily forgetting the dryness of my mouth and eyes, as well as my pounding head, I gasped and and sat up, ready to scream. The man spoke quickly, a slightly amused tone to his British drawl.

"Oh no miss, pardon me, I'm not here to cause any harm. I work for Mr. Wayne, and thought it might be a good idea to check on you; I wager the state of your head has made you in need of this." He lowered the silver tray, and I slipped my glasses on, bringing into focus a very expensive looking glass filled with water, and two pills, which I assumed to be some sort of pain killer.

"Thanks." As soon as the word left my mouth, I regretted it. Not only was my voice scratchy and hoarse, but the smell of my breath resembled that of the ass end of a cow.

I grabbed the water and the pills, chugging down the full glass, feeling immediately refreshed, albeit the pounding was still severe. I leaned forward, and squeezed my eyes shut, pressing on my temples with my fingertips.

"If you're hoping to freshen up, Mr. Wayne took the liberty of having your things brought over from the hotel. They are in the bathroom. When you're ready, feel free to come downstairs; I've prepared a little breakfast for everyone." He was gone before I could respond, and I remained immobile for almost another ten minutes before the pills kicked in.

I looked around, only then noticing that he hadn't told me where the bathroom was, before realizing there was one adjoining to my room.

Man...glamorous.

Majority of my bathroom visit was spent on the toilet, my stomach aching horribly from all the alcohol. That was the problem with not drinking all the time; when I did go wild with it, my body took a real toll.

I showered and dressed quickly, deciding sweat pants and a t shirt were more than acceptable.

Downstairs was not difficult to find, as the stairs were nearly right outside my room, and I padded down in my fluffier than necessary socks, following the soft murmur of voices. I emerged in a beautifully ornate kitchen, much like the rest of what I suspected to be a very pricey penthouse.

Guess billionaire life had it's perks.

Everyone was present except for Ling, and oddly enough, our host.

Well, I assumed he was our host.

I sat down in the chair Lucius had pulled out for me, courteously returning everyone's morning greetings, and giving a slightly sheepish smile to my father. I hadn't exactly planned on meeting him, but the few times I imagined what it would be like did not involve me being so drunk I didn't remember the reunion.

"So uh...where's um, Mr. Wayne?" I hardly remembered meeting him, and wasn't sure whether or not calling him Bruce was in the cards.

Lucius swallowed his food.

"He's working. Despite what you may have heard about his...reputation...he does like to take an interest in how his company is run."

I snorted before I could stop myself, and momentarily froze. My father's face broke into an impish smile, his eyes crinkling in a very friendly, familiar way.

"Now now Jezzie," he joking waggled a finger at me, "you should show him some respect; not every man can juggle as many women as he's able to." I snickered, and helped myself to some toast.

"Well, he made you CEO of his company, so I guess he's definitely got brains; he just thinks with the wrong head sometimes." The butler poured me some coffee, shooting me a grin.

"Most of the time." He corrected me, and we all laughed, though I didn't miss the look he and Lucius shared with each other.

I finished my toast quickly, and didn't know where to proceed from there: bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, eggs (fried and scrambled), toast, bagels, muffins, waffles and pancakes. Apparently I had a different idea of 'little' than Mr. Wayne's butler. Deciding it was all there to be eaten, I helped myself to some of everything; though normally not a breakfast person, a night of binge drinking usually resulted in a following day of binge eating, and a very upset tummy. I hope Mr. Wayne invested in plumbing the way he did in expensive dishes.

"This looks incredible. You really outdid yourself...um..." I trailed off awkwardly, giving the butler an apologetic look. He seemed amused.

"Alfred, miss. Alfred Pennyworth."

"Great to meet you Alfred, I'm Jezzie Fox." I stood and reach my hand out, giving him a firm handshake. He looked surprised and pleased.

"Pleasure miss." He averted his gaze to my father. "You have quite the daughter, Mr. Fox."

"That I do. She did extremely well for herself." Lucius beamed, reminding me of the cat that swallowed the canary. I sighed exasperatedly at the shared knowledge that I was his daughter.

"I guess a lot was said last night that I don't quite remember." Everyone laughed, and my father looked at me mischievously.

"Do you remember agreeing to spending a month?" My eyes widened.

"Pardon?"

Jake sniggered, and smirked at me.

"Well, originally you were saying you were never going to leave, and you were talking about us all getting a house together."

My face started burning, and I pressed my lips together in a very embarrassed smile.

"I'm sorry...I really don't handle my liquor that well."

Lucius waved it off with a smile that looked like he was holding in a laugh. "That's more than acceptable to me, it's nice knowing my long lost daughter isn't a heavy drinker." He took a bite of egg, and wiped his mouth before continuing. "Though we did make tentative arrangements for you to spend the month here, and see how you liked it."

I took a large chomp of the egg and bacon sandwich I'd created. "Glad you talked some sense into me; that's why I don't drink much." I choked a little on the last word, and Mike thumped me on the back.

"Or chew with your mouth full." I swallowed down the contents in my mouth with a swig of coffee, and stuck my tongue out at him.

Breakfast was finished as I was filled in on the events of the previous night. Ling entered when we were near completion, which was just as well, as she was too hungover to even look at a plate of food. I obviously wasn't the only one with a low tolerance.

That week was spent sight seeing; not that there was too much to see, other than restaurants, bars, and a couple clubs. Rather than returning to Chicago that night, courtesy of Mr. Wayne, or 'please call me Bruce,' we remained in the grande, six bedroom penthouse, which comfortably supported twelve people. Even my father spent the week there, Bruce allotting him seven days off work.

Everyone managed a phone interview with Dr. Quinzel, and she even sent some files of past patients, ones who'd already forfeited their doctor/patient privileges for the purpose of books featuring them. I was the only one who'd not made an effort to contact her; when I called, it wouldn't be for a phone interview. I wanted a face to face, and possibly more, if I could get it.

Not that I told anyone this; my father was clearly pleased when I told him I wasn't going to call her. He didn't say anything, but I had to admire his fatherly instincts. Apparently he'd almost had a bird when he found out I'd had face to face contact with the Joker, and according to Cameron, Bruce had also appeared very unsettled at the news.

We saw everyone off, and I moved all my things into my father's apartment, which, though nowhere near as fancy as Bruce's, was definitely nicer than the cramped little one bedroom I resided in back in Chicago.

We settled down for our first father daughter dinner before I'd realized I knew virtually nothing about him, other than what I'd read.

"So uh...any other family? Kids?" Not exactly the most tactful way of bringing it up, but if we were going to have any sort of family relationship, he would have to understand that unless I was trying to impress someone with professionalism, tact was not something very frequently in my vocabulary.

He shook his head.

"I send money to my parents and siblings regularly, but we haven't really spoken in about forty years. It wasn't the most pleasant environment to grow up in, so I spent most of my time with the Wayne family, Bruce's father. They virtually took me in like a second son. As for children, not unless your mother had twins. No wife, no girlfriend, no kids; your mother was it for me."

I gave him a look that stated I clearly didn't believe him.

He sighed and leaned forward, and I detected an almost sheepish aura about him, despite his almost smug smile.

"That bar we were at last night...that was where your mother and I met. Yesterday was, I guess, the anniversary of...well." He gestured to me slightly awkwardly, and I snickered.

"My conception?"

"That," he agreed, his smile turning impish, "but also the anniversary of the day I met the woman I fell in love with." How...corny.

Adorably corny.

I cocked my head.

"Forgive me for saying, but...you don't really look like the romantic type."

He laughed.

"Yes, well, science and math have always been my ladies. No one quite...stimulated me like they do. Well, except your mother."

I raised my eyebrows, and widened my eyes, giving him an exaggeratedly shocked look.

His eyes closed tight, and he was frowning in a comical way.

"That came out slightly differently than I'd meant-" This time it was my turn to laugh.

"Just busting your chops..._daddy_." Though it was said jokingly, there was an interesting energy that emerged between us when I said that. We stared at each other for a second, before he cleared his throat.

"So um...how is Ker- your mother?"

My breath momentarily caught in my chest, and I took a sip of wine, stalling. Not that I was exactly devastated about my mother, she wasn't really one who made the best choices...but how to tell him that?

I took a deep breath.

"Kerri...she um...she passed. When I was two." I chose to look in my wine glass rather than at his face, but I didn't have to to feel the shock and grief.

"May...I ask how?" His voice was steady, but monotone.

I swallowed. "She was...she was murdered. By her boyfriend." I finally raised my eyes to him, deciding that as a math and science lover, straight and to the point, black and white, would be the way to deal with this.

"She'd been with him since she was fourteen. He was the leader of a gang. She was in Gotham because of him, doing a drug run."

The look that came over his face was heartbreaking.

"When I was born, nine months after her return, he um...noticed, my skin tone wasn't exactly the product of parents of white and Spanish descent. To protect us, my mother ran away with me, to Chicago...he found us, and...wasn't too happy."

There was a very heavy silence.

After a few minutes, he broke it.

"Jezzie...I-I'm so sorry." I shook my head.

"Don't be. If anything, I'm sorry you had to find out...everything, like this. Especially knowing how you felt about her." I shook my head again, heaving a deep sigh. "Luckily, I was raised by wonderful people; given a much better life than a gang baby, or one spent in hiding." The unspoken words hung in the air; what if Lucius had been a part in my life?

"I have no doubt you would have made a splendid father; but maybe giving up your life was not the best thing that could have happened." I leaned forward. "And no offense, Bruce has been very kind, but from his reputation...it's a damn good thing you were there to look after his company."

He started laughing, a little too boisterously for what I said, and I had the feeling of being left out of some inside joke.

"Fair enough point." He smiled, and his eyes crinkled again. It was weird, seeing my eyes on a male.

"Well, whoever your parents were, they certainly did a bang up job; you'll have to pass my gratitude onto them." His words were very genuine, and I gave him a fond smile.

"Well, I have great genetics; though I was never really strong in the math and science department; psychology and English have always been my strong points." I took another sip of wine, and added, "Maybe one day you'll have the opportunity to express your thanks to them yourself."

Lucius smiled, and topped off both our glasses, finishing the bottle.

"So, genetics...I guess in the whole nature vs. nurture debate, you lean more towards the nature?" I shifted my position.

"It's definitely a huge factor; look at Jeffery Dahmer; he never had a horrible childhood. Experienced divorce, had a scary surgery, and made a drastic move...but nothing that nobody else has ever experienced. Yet something in his mind just wasn't right, and he ended up killing seventeen people, his youngest victim being fourteen. But then you have someone like John Gacy, who experienced horrible abuse at the hands of his father, and ended up committing similar acts to his victims. It's definitely a mixture of the two. It just depends on the person."

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. "And what about someone like, say, the Joker?"

The wine had given me a nice buzz, but I did not miss the overtly nonchalant tone that had creeped into his voice.

"He...is certainly a difficult man to understand. I hope one day I can."

A very dark look came over my father's face.

"And, pray tell, how do you plan to do that?"

I took a gulp of wine. I hadn't exactly planned on telling him right away, but I suppose this was as good a time as any to fill him in on my intentions.

"I intend to use him as the main case study for my thesis. Dr. Quinzel was very helpful, and I'm sure she'll have no problem filling me in on whatever she can. Maybe she'll even let me sit in on a session or two with him."

He was silent. I could feel his disapproval emanating off him, and almost could predict his next words.

"Jezzie...I know I haven't exactly been there, and have no call to act as your father...but -"

I held my hand up to silence him.

"No, you don't have the right to tell me what to do, or try and stop me. You didn't raise me, you weren't even aware of my existence until a week ago...but you ARE my father, and you've certainly stepped up to the plate brilliantly. You gave me life, and I think I've made the absolute best of it thus far. I've never taken on more than I can handle, I know my limits, and what I'm capable of, which you do not, as you were never there. I will do whatever it takes, short of murdering someone, to succeed. At this point in my life, and our relationship, it's not your job to dictate what I do; it is your job to support me, care about me, and advise me. I will listen, and without a doubt respect you enough to take anything you have to say into account; I definitely get my smarts from somewhere. My actions however, are mine to make, and to date I've never made a decision bad enough to ruin my life."

His eyes were sad, and although he didn't like it, I could tell he had no argument.

"Well, just be careful. Make sure you know all the facts before jumping in with both feet; the Joker is not someone to underestimate. Don't take any risks when it comes to him, and Jezzie...if you ever need anything, I will be here."

I felt a small tug at my heartstrings.

"Thank you, Lucius. I'll drink to that." We clinked glasses, and retired soon after.

* * *

My first meeting with Dr. Quinzel, who'd also given me a, 'please call me Harleen" was rather uneventful, compared to the last time I'd been there. She provided me with a stack of files, some not exactly legal ("just use these as your mental notes" she whispered with a wink) and my next few days were filled with a lot of reading. I wasn't exactly sure why the good doctor was so eager to break rules and help me, but I sure as hell was not complaining.

I hadn't gotten very far, but from what I'd gathered, the Joker was convicted of personally killing eight people, which would have been nine had he been successful in murdering the mayor. Ten, if one included Brian Douglas, but there seemed to be a debate on whether or not he actually killed him. He was tied in with countless other murders, but other than Joker cards, there was no other proof he'd been anywhere near the victims. The victims themselves, it seemed were no more than a means to an end for him. They weren't personal, he didn't target them specifically for any personal reason; his overall motive seemed to be, at this point, to cause chaos. Only Gambol and Lau were meaningful kills, for the purpose of sending some sort of message, and the others were just...in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The only person I could decipher him having a connection with was someone very much like him; the Batman, whom he refused to kill, because apparently he was 'just too much fun.'

Was that his motive? To have fun? Was the Joker nothing more than an overgrown manchild? It would certainly fit, at this point I couldn't make out a system; most killers, serial, spree or mass had some sort of motive, or end game. Jeffrey Dahmer ate people to deal with his abandonment issues, John Gacy craved control and dominance; from what I could see, there was absolutely no method to this psychopath's madness.

As arranged, I returned to Arkham for the second time that week, to ask Harleen what she thought. She couldn't divulge too much, she'd already given me more than she should have, but she did say that I was wrong.

"Not that I can go into too much depth to tell you why, even if I knew what it was I wouldn't be able to tell you...but every murderer has a reason, usually stemming from childhood. Every killer has an inner secret that makes them do what they do."

"That's what I thought!" I admitted, feeling slightly discouraged. "But I can't even begin to understand where this guy is coming from...what could possibly _drive _him."

"Well, keep working sweetie. You're a smart cookie, wouldn't surprised me if you're the one to help me crack the Joker's mind!" She smiled cheerfully, and tugged on the exposed purpled peekaboo. I needed to re-dye that.

She saw me out, after handing me some of her clinical notes on the Joker, once again, telling me to keep it 'hush hush.'

Her notes didn't say much, just really his recount of what happened during his 'free time.' Though I did completely comprehend why he was called the Joker. He found the darkest things funny. Some of the jokes she'd written down that he'd said...they were no short of disturbing.

The next visit had me asking about the Joker's past.

"So...only two stories are known regarding the origin of his scars; one about an abusive father, and something about a gambling wife?"

Harleen nodded. "I've asked him about both those stories, and he claims to not remember telling them, though it's difficult to know whether he's lying or not. He recounted a story to me about a best friend who'd betrayed him, which omitted my original theory that both stories were true, one for each scar...now, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure he even remembers how he actually got them." My eyes widened slightly.

"So it's possible he could be experiencing a type of psychosis?" Harleen shrugged.

"Your words not mine." She punctuated that sentence with a wink.

"Would it...ever be possible to maybe...sit in? On a session?"

Harleen immediately shook her head.

"Sorry hun, that's where I have to draw the line. Not even the owner of this place is permitted to oversee any of the Joker's and my exchanges. The presence of another person in the room, especially someone who he's already been able to unnerve, would not be conductive to his therapy."

Obviously I was disappointed, but I hadn't really expected a different answer.

"Fair enough." I unsuccessfully tried to keep the crest fallen tone out of my voice.

Harleen cocked her head at me.

"How long will you be around for?" The question caught me off guard.

"Well, the plan was for a month...so about two weeks left."

Harleen clicked her tongue and stood up.

"Tell ya what; if you can extend that, I will see about getting you some of the interview tapes. I can't guarantee anything, but if you prep properly, and show a strong mind when it comes to his antics, I will see about maybe having you sit in on one or two of our sessions; though you won't be speaking to him directly."

I could have kissed her.

"Harleen, oh my gosh, that would be incredible, even just the tapes...holy shit, that's awesome, yes, I'll do everything you tell me too, I'll work really hard, and learn everything I can, and help with whatever I can, and- just, oh my gosh, this is- fuck, I'll make arrangements right away!" I was practically bouncing out of my seat, and Harleen laughed.

"I remember writing my thesis; I would have given anything to have had an inside look on the criminal mind. It was hard enough getting anyone to take someone so young seriously, especially being a woman. I was the only female my professor had accepted into his doctorate program, and added to that, I was about five years younger than everyone else. I was always slightly ahead, but that never made it easy for me." Her tone was slightly bitter, and I nodded understandingly.

"I can't even imagine being so much younger than everyone else...it's difficult enough at the regular age." I packed away my stuff, and stood, holding my hand out. "Thank you so much for your help Harleen, I'll let you know what's happening on our next meeting; when would be best?"

She took my hand, placing her other over it. "It's my pleasure darling, anything I can do to help. I know you'll make a wonderful addition to the doctor world." She led me out. "Shall we reconvene on Saturday? Say, 1300 hours?"

I nodded. "That would be fine...Saturday though? Do you work everyday?"

She smiled patiently. "Well, the patients needs daily therapy sessions, so yes. But, since he's such a high profile patient, he's the only one I'm working with right now, so technically I only have to be here for half an hour everyday. It's a pretty good deal, especially considering I average a bi weekly paycheque of almost three thousand dollars, and that's after tax."

My eyes practically bulged.

"Holy shit. Guess I'm definitely going down the right career path." She laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"It's certainly not a bad one."

* * *

Although Lucius wasn't exactly thrilled with the circumstance surrounding my request for an extended stay, he was more than willing to accommodate.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want; though I can't promise I'll be around often. As you've seen, I spend majority of my time at work, but I'd certainly be more than honoured to see you through one of the most important ti-" He was cut off by my arms being thrown around his neck, my small frame causing him to momentarily lose balance, sending him a couple steps back.

"Oh, thank you thank you thank you thank you! I won't be a problem, I promise, I'll cook, and clean, I won't take drugs or party, not that I really do anyway, but oh my gosh thank you! I'll be the perfect daughter." We both paused at that, and slowly separated, my arms still on his shoulders, his on my waist. His face looked taken aback, but not in a negative way.

I was just as surprised. That had kinda just...slipped out.

His face broke into a grin, and he pulled me tightly into his chest.

"Nothing would make me happier."

**Sorry, no Joker yet. That changes in the next one though, promise! **


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Much of my time I spent at home, studying cases that didn't even have pertinence to the Joker. Harleen had promised me once I could give her an accurate profile and treatment plan of of ten maximum security patients, she would allow me access to the videos taken of her currently sole patient.

Some cases I had already heard of, and done some basic reading on my own, one being the infamous Scarecrow, who had earned worldwide notoriety once his chemical concoction fell into what the media referred to as terroristic hands. I grabbed the tape recorder, and hit rec.

"Crane. Dr. Jonathon Crane. A very feminine looking man. He seemed to thrive from the idea of being feared, by means of dominating his victims and establishing complete control; there cannot be any sort of chance for them to regain power. Remorse is a foreign concept to him, as he views his victims like objects, things he holds a right to for the purpose of experimentation.

Death, for this patient, doesn't appear to be a motivational factor in his crimes. Though a murderer when the occasion called for it, Jonathon Crane focus' more on the psychological torture he inflicts on his victims.

This stems from a difficult home life; since the early stages of childhood, he has felt a complete lack of control, feeling like if he could just sway events, if he were able to establish some sort of supremacy of his life, he could feel established in himself. This is most likely a tragic childhood incident, like the death of a parent, possibly both. Whoever took up the mantle and raised Dr. Crane did so with a very stern and probably religious hand, most likely domineering, and completely stripping the boy away of any masculine identity. Whoever it was has burned into Jonathan's mind one thing; fear is a weakness, and weakness is unacceptable."

Here I paused, remembering that breathing regularly was important.

"He will not stop; he can't stop. No matter how many people he terrifies, how much power he gains, it will never be enough, because the person who stripped him of his power still has that hold over him, and he cannot escape that feeling of inadequacy. As for treatment, I would tell him all of this.

Walking in, he would immediately attempt to implicate me in his fantasies, most likely asking about my fears, and what makes me tick. He would attempt to control the situation and conversation, therefore enabling him to feel strong and superior to who he views as competition. As a psychiatrist, he'll know the tricks, he'll know the treatments, so I feel the most effective way to break down his walls is to tell him why those walls are up. Tell him things he won't want to hear, things he himself hasn't even faced himself, and he will react. Most men capable of his crimes would react with anger, but due to his masculinity being suppressed for the majority of his life, I believe he will experience an intense, overwhelming sadness, and will therefore be more vulnerable to the typical treatment methods used for this type of offender."

The tape recorder clicked as I hit stop, and I leaned back, exhaling deeply. I don't think I did too badly, considering it was my first time making a recording for someone else's benefit.

Amazing how difficult it is to sound like yourself when that's what you're expected to do.

The profile hadn't taken me long at all to compile, as I had already come up with my own preconceptions regarding motive, so I was through his case within a couple of days.

The rest, the ones that weren't as infamous took closer to four, sometimes even five days. By the end however, I was more than satisfied with what I'd come up with, and after a grueling almost three months, I was ready to show Harleen.

I dropped it all off personally the next day, though Harleen wasn't in the office, and I waited anxiously for her phone call.

I almost had a heart attack when it came in, and had to steady myself before answering.

"Alright Jezzie, I'm giving you access to the Joker's therapy tapes, beginning from the first time he was institutionalized, though it was only for a month. You will watch them, and do what you have done for all these cases for him. I'll have them ready for you tomorrow by noon; will that work for you?"

I almost couldn't contain my squeal.

"Yes, yes Harleen, that's perfect...oh, oh my God, you have no idea...yes, I will be there noon sharp. Oh my God Harleen, thank you thank you thank you..."  
She laughed and said goodbye, her tone slightly lifted.

Then I screamed.

I leaped and hopped around the room, resembling, in my father's words, "a drunk baboon."

Even if he had meant it as an insult, I was too elated to take it as such.

"She's going to give me the tapes! She's going to do it, I passed, I profiled them all and I passed!"

Knowing you're good at something is one thing...to have it confirmed is something so much greater.

My father grabbed my shoulders firmly, planting me to the ground.

"Take a breather kiddo." His eyebrows were raised comically high, and I smiled at him, mirroring his closed mouth grin.

"I'm sorry, I just...I might actually be able to have something to do with the Joker- the JOKER's- treatment...it's-"  
"Amazing and wonderful, I know. It certainly calls for a celebration! Why don't you hop to your room, get something dressy on, and I'll get us a car."

I nodded vigorously, before my face fell.

"Oh...well, I guess I'll need a little bit more time here...I'm sorry, I really didn't think I would be longer than three months, I can totally find another place if it's an inconvenience-"

Lucius silenced me with a hug, effectively muffling my words with his chest.

"Jezzie, if it were up to be I'd move you in here permanently. As it is, I'm just grateful you're being delayed from leaving; despite our busy schedules, I like knowing you're here, making a life for yourself."

I smiled, and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you...honestly...I love Mark and Sarah - my adoptive parents - but in truth, I would have loved to have known you before. It's almost a shame you never started a family; you're a natural at it." I skipped off, only realizing too late when I entered my room that the only semi appropriate thing I had to wear was a cheap, black knock off I'd spotted for twenty dollars in a thrift store.

Well, hopefully people wouldn't be looking.

When I emerged, I could tell though my father didn't exactly scrutinize, he definitely noticed the quality of my attire.

My dress however, didn't seem to be a problem at the restaurant. Though I did receive stares from some of the female patrons, we received better treatment than anyone in the place, bypassing the extremely lengthy line up, and having our coats taken before we even made it to our table, which was being set with water as we sat down.

Damn.

"You lied to me." I hissed at my dad, and he gave me a shocked look.

I kept an accusing stare in my eyes.

"You told me you weren't seeing anyone...the only way anyone gets this sort of service is if they're sleeping with the owner."

"Well, as handsome as your father is, I can assure you, him and I are purely business associates." The voice cut in before I could even laugh at my own joke, and another man joined us at the table.

"Bruce, thank you for coming." Lucius stood and grasped his boss' hand, who held his hand out to me when I made to do the same.

"Please, stay seated; as I understand it, this is a dinner in your honour, Jezzie?" He kissed the tip of my fingers and sat, ordering what sounded like a very exotic bottle of champagne.

Normally, this sort of behaviour would have greatly irritated me, the whole rich bitch show off game, but for some reason...I got the feeling he was doing it more for the people around us, rather than us.

Also, perhaps it was slightly biased, but I refused to believe my father would ever become friends with such an incompetent, pompous jackass.

"So...your father has told me you'll be staying with us a little longer?"

I nodded, giving my father an odd glance, wondering why he would have invited Bruce to our celebration.

"Yes, I just turned in some profiles Dr. Quinzel asked me to look at, and she's given me the go ahead to watch the Joker's tapes. I'll be studying him, and I'll be creating a working profile, as well as a treatment plan."

Bruce whistled, and though he seemed to be paying more attention to the menu, I could tell he was hanging on to every word.

I flicked my eyes between him and my father, beginning to suspect there was an aspect of their relationship they weren't explaining.

My first thought was perhaps a homosexual relationship...however, here I was, so I was going to assume other possible avenues first.

Though I wouldn't rule it out. In fact, it might even be cooler...I could return home with the news that I not only found my biological father, but I now had two millionaire - well, one billionaire - father.

"Well, that's excellent news Jezzie. You're obviously a very talented young woman. I can see why Lucius is so eager to invest." I must have looked taken aback, because he zipped his lips.

"Sorry, spoke out of turn; Lucius?" We both turned to my father, who was looking at me in a very business like manner.

"Jezzie...the reason I asked Bruce here, is because I want to set you up with your own account with Wayne Enterprises. You'd be provided with an American Express Centurion card; now, this is just a precaution, as the minimum spending you're allotted is 250 000 a year...however, I don't expect you to spend that yearly, so I will jump in and make purchases and spend when necessary."

I wasn't sure if I was hearing right, and for a second debated on being insulted.

"Lucius...I...that's very generous, but-"

He waved his hand, cutting me off.

"I know, you don't want life handed to you, you want to feel like you worked for it...but Jezzie...you HAVE worked for it. Life has not been handed to you, you've been through a hell of an ordeal, and the fact that you've done so well for yourself just...please. You have earned all the easy ways you can find, and if I can help make life less stressful, even by just paying some bills, I am honoured to do it; as is Mr. Wayne." Bruce nodded.

"To be honest Jezzie, not that it's any of my business, but I'm amazed you've made it so far in this economy...God knows how you're paying for school."

This time, I cut them off with my hand, causing them to smirk. My father's daughter alright.

"Schooling isn't a problem. I've been struggling slightly with my apartment lately, but I received a full scholarship to post secondary, which included meal plans and residence; admittedly, a few times I partied a little too..._elitely_ for my own pocket's good, but I get by."

Lucius sighed, and folded his arms, eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Well, I am your father, and therefore feel it is not only my place, but my privilege to pass on my belongings to you; you are the sole benefactor to my will anyway, so it's all coming your way anyway. Mr. Wayne has indicated that if something were to happen to him, I would inherit the company...and after me...well." He gestured to me. "Even if you don't spend it, it will be sitting there waiting for you to use it."

I couldn't speak. He made a good case, but still...a centurion? Minimum...250 000 annually? That was...more than I'd spent in my entire twenty six years of existence.

"Lucius...Bruce...I...thank you." My mouth was dry, and I started feeling slightly uncomfortable. Thank you was so minimal compared to what I was being offered...I couldn't react.

"Jezzie, I'm your father...the least you can let me do is pay for those wild hair treatments." I grinned at that, flipping my now black hair, streaked with poppy red, with bright red underneath. Not cheap.

"Okay, I'll give you that one..." I poked at his own graying head. "Guess it must be nice to have hair to treat, huh?"

His mouth dropped open in surprise, but his finger was quick to retaliate, jabbing into my waist.

"Gah!" I jumped in my seat and slapped at his hand, laughing giddily. I turned to Bruce, nodding at his offer of champagne, when I noticed a slight discolouration next to his eye.

"Bruce...shit, what happened?!" The curse slipped out before I could help it, but Bruce just shrugged it off.

"Oh...can't really remember...though it apparently involved a very beautiful young lady, and an irate fiance." He winked at me and took a sip of champagne, very nonchalantly.

My father avoided eye contact with me, suddenly seeming very interested in the menu himself.

Hmmm.

Deciding to change the subject, I closed my menu, ordering a random french dish that I immediately forgot the name to, and addressed my companions.

"So, this card...what does it offer?" I grinned cheekily, and Bruce laughed.

"Uh oh...look out Lucius, you created a spending monster. Wayne Enterprises will be broke before the year is out!" I went wide eyed and placed a finger to my lips, shooting an exaggeratedly terrified look at my father.

"Shhh...don't give away my plan."

Lucius chuckled, and tugged at my hair.

"It's quite a little asset. Along with the 'minimum' limit deal, you will have two concierges, one for travel and one for business, as well as discount on air travel, cruises and lodgings,"

"Access to elite clubs." Bruce interjected.

"if you visit a country where you don't speak the language, they'll provide you with an interpreter,"

"and, if you like shopping, but hate the lineups, flash this little guy," Bruce held up a black card, "and they'll shut down the store for you, until you're finished." He waggled his eyebrows. "That's a sure way to get the girls."

I snickered.

"My goal in life. May I...?"

"Of course! It's yours, after all." I took it gingerly, and ran my fingers over the metal writing of my name.

Wow.

"So...I guess I could take some friends on a shopping spree when I get home..." Though I meant it as a joke, I was slightly testing the waters. I didn't want to be overtly generous with money that wasn't mine after all.

Lucius grinned. "It is your money to do whatever you feel necessary."

I smiled, and sighed.

"Well...I guess...I guess I'm part of your circle now."

They both laughed, and we raised our glass in a toast.

Bruce made his voice deeper and puffed his chest out.

"Welcome Jezzie, to the world of pretension."

The rest of the dinner was pleasant, though it only served to really fuel my suspicions regarding Bruce. Something was off about him, and my father knew about it. Nobody was that nice, that down to earth, and that intelligent while having that much money. His reputation made sense; his personality did not.

I passed out quickly once home, feeling slightly champagne drunk. The next day I was up at ten, eager and anxious to get my hands on the Joker tapes. Harleen could tell I wasn't in the mood to talk, and didn't keep me with pointless chatter.

I was up for 48 hours. At first sight of him, my heart raced, and images of what happened, what could have happened flashed through my head momentarily. I blinked hard, and pushed the thoughts away, focusing on his face. His always smiling, always menacing, evil face.

When I finally shut my laptop, two days later, my hand ached from the writing, my head pounded with fatigue, and the inside of my mouth was practically crusting with dehydration.

Maybe a quick power nap and a bottle of water were needed.

It was seven hours later when I awoke, mentally berating myself, all the while knowing I probably needed more. I began the tapes again, this time keeping my eyes on him the entire time, rather than on my notes. His body language, the way his eyes glinted with every word...it was somehow all much more ominous when combined with his already eerie way of speaking.

At first, it was obvious Harleen was uncomfortable in his presence. However, as the sessions increased, so did her comfort, as the Joker, despite his, shall I say, quirks, was an excellent conversationalist. He was very well versed, and as much as I loathe to admit it, made some fairly valid points.

When he wasn't bursting into hysterical random laughter at the sight of a gruesome crime scene photo.

Nearing the end however, I began suspecting something else. The first month he was in treatment was normal, but when he came back, something changed. In the first session, after asking him why he would let himself get caught again, the Joker told Harleen he'd returned for the sole purpose of collecting her.

Their relationship seemed very friendly from that moment on; very...flirty, almost.

At first, I just tried telling myself she was playing him, trying to fool him into thinking he was getting into her head; then I noticed something in the final tape, when he gave a compliment to her; she giggled, and turned her face away bashfully, then quickly looked forward again, as if she'd slipped up. That caught my attention.

She seemed, embarrassed by her reaction to him...if she were aiming for a reaction, she shouldn't be trying to hide it.

So either she was just a damn good actress, or...he was in her head.

It was then I realized that there were no more videos, and the math started not adding up.

Half hour a day. Seven days a week. Seven hours bi weekly. Fourteen a month. He'd been in four months of therapy. That was fifty six hours of footage.

So why did I only have forty eight? Why would the last two weeks be the exception from allowing me access?

I shook my head, and stood up, deciding a work out would be needed. I'd tapered off with my fitness routine, and I found exercise was an excellent time for reflection.

I changed into a sports bra and pair of shorts, and hit the elliptical.

What was I going to do? If Harleen was letting the Joker into her head, I couldn't just sit idle and do nothing.

But...she was a doctor. A very smart doctor, who'd been manipulating minds probably before I was even studying them. And I seemed to be accusing everyone of acting like they're guilty of something lately, so perhaps my mind was just overworked.

Either way, I had to talk to her. I couldn't accuse her before I had any evidence, so I would just come clean, and ask where the other videos were. I would finish working out, maybe do a basic gymnastic routine, shower, and give her a call.

I expected to leave a message, but to my surprise, she answered.

"Howdy hun, what's up?"

"Oh-um...can I come in tomorrow? And talk to you? There's something I was hoping you could help me with...sorry I uh, hope I'm not um, disturbing you..."

"No sweetie, not at all, just working late, that's all. Eehhh, tomorrow should be okay, I'll be in at 0900, and have the Joker at 1500, so come in there and I can help you out."

I told myself I shouldn't look into it too much. So what if they switched the patients' therapy time every day? So what if they made it an almost undetectable pattern?

Who cares if Harleen knew what time she had the Joker tomorrow without so much as a need to glance at her planner?

Don't look into it.

That was my sleeping mantra, though I was extremely restless.

I arrived the next morning at ten to nine, almost running into Harleen on my way in.

"Wow, trying to make me look bad? Dang Jezzie, you sure are zealous."

Was that a nervous tremor I heard in her voice?

We chatted idly on the way to her office, and as she opened the door she asked,

"So Jezzie, what did you need my help with?"

I opened my mouth to answer her, when my eyes zeroed in on something else, something very out of place in her office. My mouth went without my mind's consent.

"Harleen...I didn't know you had a boyfriend!"

"What?" She walked to the side of my chair, giving me a very odd look. I pointed to her desk, on top of which sat a beautiful crystal vase, which held a single, red rose. Harleen's face went pink, and a goofy smile appeared.

"What makes you think I do?" Her voice took on an almost defensive edge.

"Well...most people don't buy themselves roses, and anyone buying a rose for someone knows it's a symbol of romance..."

She shrugged. "Rose in American culture is used as such...it's not exactly world renowned though; for example, in the days of the Roman empire, a rose would be hung over a table to inform people anything spoken at that table would be kept secret." She held up a finger to me.

"Excuse me for a minute; did you want coffee?" I held my purchased cup in salute to her, and she left.

Well, smooth distraction Ms. Quinzel.

Once the door shut, I quickly stood and made my way over to the rose, noticing a note attached, along with a black ribbon.

TO MY HARLEY QUINN

WITHOUT WHOM I WOULD BE TRULY INSANE

Goosebumps broke out all over my body, and I returned to my seat swiftly.

Harley Quinn...like...like a harlequin...doll. Doll. A clown doll. Clown. Joker.

Fuck. Was I just choosing to see coincidences as evidence?

The door opened, and Harleen took a seat at her desk, moving the rose to a blocked location behind her.

"So...how can I help you?  
"Oh...um..." I licked my lips and swallowed.

"I was just uh, hoping to um...see, or uh, lead, an interview with...Joker."

Lame. It was a lame excuse. No way she'd fall for it.

"No."

The icy edge to her answer surprised me. I was expecting confusion, disbelief. And possibly an inquiry as to why I was lying.

Not bitterness, not...was that, jealousy?

"Oh...okay well...I should be back in a couple of days to give my profile."

She gave me a tight lipped smile and nodded, patting my back, and pleasantly leading me to the door.

But there was a definite cold demeanor about her.

Once home, I poured myself a very hefty glass of wine, and guiltily indulged in a cigarette from the pack I'd purchased on the way home. I surely needed it.

My mentor was in a relationship with the Joker. I had no doubt no. Her past was a mystery, I could only guess, but it made sense she had some sort of negative male figure in her life, an abusive father, an absent father...all she desires is the love and affection of a man, and the idea that someone so brutal and horrible, someone who felt nothing, actually managed to feel something for her...

Well, I almost couldn't blame her for falling for it.

I had to go to my father; but what would I say? No evidence, proof...just a theory. I needed something...I needed...

Hmmm.

I needed Harleen to admit her diagnosis of the Joker.

I was seated in Harleen's office, two days later, nearly bouncing with faux anticipation.

The rose was nowhere to be seen.

"You're certainly bubbly today." Her normal persona was back, and she was chipper. Good.

"I know exactly who the Joker is. He's _lost_ Harleen. He's scared and alone. All his life, he's been abused, rejected, demeaned, made to feel worthless; people hurt him, physically and emotionally, berating him to the point of extreme self loathing. Then one day he just...snapped. He killed them all, desperate to annihilate the threat, the people he considered responsible for his insecurities and weaknesses; but it didn't work. He couldn't get rid of them, and now, he kills everyone. Anyone that could reject him, he doesn't care, he rejects them before they can him. He can't even acknowledge their existence as people."

Harleen looked shocked. Her mouth was hanging open, and for a minute I worried about whether or not I'd been wrong, and she was going to viciously tear into my horrid profile skills.

"Wha- you, oh my God, I though I...how would um," she cleared her throat and sat up. "How would you um, treat him?"

I shrugged in a very dreamy way.

"Love. Affection. He needs to understand that people care, and he's not alone, and he doesn't have to fear what people could do to him."

I thought she was going to cry.

"That...you're right. Jezzie, you're exactly right. Thank you." She stood and led me to the door.

"I will inform your professor of your brilliant assistance and assessments of our patients. You won't have a problem graduating with that mind of yours."

She shut the door, and I continued walking, returning home in a zombie like state.

That...just happened. That actually just happened. Harleen Quinzel just agreed with a very wrong, very sloppy profile.

Damn. She was actually in a relationship with him. She was completely and totally in love with the Joker.

This...could not end well.

I ordered in that night, right after asking my father to return home for dinner, I had something very important I needed to discuss with him.

He did not believe me, and had a face set somewhere between skepticism and laughter.

"Jezzie...Harleen Quinzel is a very well renowned psychiatrist..."  
"Yes, I know; that's what makes this so weird! She agreed with me when I told her I believed the Joker was just a sad lonely soul, and could be cured with the love and tenderness of a good woman."

Pause.

"You...told her that?"

"Yes. And she agreed, Lucius. She agreed, and I swear, she was about to cry as she did. Not from laughter, as you'd expect, but...she was almost...relieved, that I told her. Like I told her what she wanted to hear.

I was probably happier than I should have been at the obvious unease in Lucius' gaze. He stood up, and I followed him to the door.

"What are we going to do?"

"_We_, aren't going to do anything." He put on his coat and grabbed my shoulders.

"You are going to stay here and sleep. I will take care of this."

At my protest, he kissed my forehead.

"If what you say is true, I will find out, and inform the proper authorities. You may be called as a witness in the case,therefore should have no further contact with this situation."

I sighed, and nodded, crestfallen. I felt like a detective.

I cleaned up leisurely, and decided to retire early.

My phone woke me up in the wee hours of the morning, three am.

Ugh.

"Hello?" My voice was groggy, and I could barely keep my crust eyes open.

"Jezzie? Oh, thank God, you're okay? Are you home?"

I groaned and rolled over, throwing my arm over my eyes. It was a struggle to not fall back asleep.

"Yes...yes Lucius, I'm here, I'm sleeping...what else would I be doing?"

"Jezzie, listen to me, you need to lock the door and barricade it. Open it only to me. There's a key taped under the lamp to your right, it opens a chest in my room under my mattress. There's a gun inside."

I wasn't tired anymore. My heart raced, and I felt my palms begin to sweat.

"Lucius...what's going on?"

He gave a desperate sigh.

"It's the Joker, Jez. He's escaped."

**No Joker in this one unfortunately, but only one chapter plus an epilogue left, so lots of him to come! :) hope you enjoyed, will try to wrap it up as quick as possible.**


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